


While We're At It

by altairattorney



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Gen, New timeline fic, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altairattorney/pseuds/altairattorney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If this man could become the (second? or is he that boastful?) best detective in the country, then absolutely anything can happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While We're At It

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my entry for the Ghost Swap exchange @ fyeahghosttrick on Tumblr! For puzzleaddictyomz. 
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> "Ok, seriously, please stop dragging me into solving crimes I am a systems engineer not a detective"/"I AM NOT A HACKER PLEASE STOP"/"Why would I possibly know about this thing? Yeah ok I am a huge nerd but that doesn’t mean I have detailed knowledge of [game/tv show/books/movie that is being copycatted by a criminal]"/"Cabanela I swear to god if you don’t stop calling me doing a google search ‘hacking’ one more time I’m walking out that door and leaving you on your own with this one"… Reluctant police consultant Yomiel.

"Is that  _really_  what you are calling for?”

It is not the first time this man leaves Yomiel speechless. It is definitely the first time he accomplishes it with something this ridiculous. Knowing the man, he is probably setting a world record in ridiculousness.

Cabanela’s uneasiness around him wore off too fast. It startles him to acknowledge it — it took him years, existent and not, to remember he was no longer drowned in hatred and regret. Now, he has been out of prison for little more than five months, and the guy is already taking their broken yearly conversations to a dangerous level of trust.

He is asking Yomiel to help, more specifically. To help the cause of  _justice_. His fingers cling to the receiver, eyes widening widen in disbelief, as he tries to let the fact sink in.

Cabanela is tricking him into infiltrating the security system of a very dangerous criminal group, and Yomiel, needless to say, is not letting him succeed.

“You cannot be serious, now. Come on.”

But Cabanela insists that he really is, that the police are grasping at straws without a talented hacker on the force, and Yomiel can only draw the same conclusion for the umpteenth time. If this man could become the (second? or is he that boastful?) best detective in the country, then absolutely anything can happen.

Even being resurrected from ten years of death.

"I am not a hacker, and you don’t need me to remind you," Yomiel finally answers, with way more energy than he would like. He recognizes his anger of years seeping through the words. "Do you even know what my job is? I cannot break in any database with such advanced encryption. I think we made that clear several years ago."

"I’m sorry."

Yomiel does not remember ever hearing Cabanela’s voice like that. He remembers it heavy on his ears, back in the days of a young rising detective who believed ruthlessness meant justice; he remembers how he gradually came to know a different voice, light, carefree and full of dancing vocals, as Cabanela’s voice.

On the other hand, the blunt pain in such simple words has a kind of dignity and firmness that Cabanela hardly shows on the outside. It is part of his true personality, Yomiel realizes quickly, without needing too much time to think.

He still has a hard time showing it. It may be because of the other past, when it was too much of a weakness. And his caution stuck with him — one more thing that stayed.

"I know."

There is a long pause, with the whole weight of all that has been. Although it is heavier to him, Yomiel finds it does not mean that much anymore. He is used to it.

"If you need a hacker, don’t call again," Yomiel finally says with half a smile.

"Count on it, baby."

*

The phone rings two years and one week later. It is not the first time at all. It is, however, the first near-monthly call in which Yomiel surprises himself.

He answers tiredly and thinks that it is Cabanela, again. Just Cabanela. Then he replays what he just thought in his mind, and he cringes.

“Everything aaall right over there, baby?”

“I was just pissed at you and your hyper-regular calling habit, Cabanela,” he snorts. “Bring it on. You aren’t asking me to crack a stupid coded message like in that case two months ago, are you?”

“Not quiiite, but almost.” He can almost see Cabanela’s voice shining with cheer today. “If you want to help, baby, all we need is a minute of your massive knowledge.”

“Very funny, mr. Clueless Detective. And that would be?”

“A TV show.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Yomiel does not want to hear any more, this time. (Again). He begins one of his rants, explaining in detail why owning a small museum of science fiction in his home does not equal knowing whatever a nerd criminal would try to rip off. And Cabanela smirks on the other end of the phone, and that’s part of a routine, infinitely weird and weirdly functional at the same time.

“You end up helping out, though. Aaall the time. Don’t you?” The detective’s cackling flows smooth as silk from the receiver. “You see, that’s really simple. I know you don’t like us to ask. But-”

“But what?”

“You do much,” Cabanela says. “You really do. And you are waaay more reliable than our team on some things. Sorry to bother you.”

Cabanela’s rare seriousness awakens a few memories in him. Come to think of it, Yomiel hasheard him apologize more than once. It first happened in a boring hospital room, one with too much cold, colour, feeling for a newborn dead man. It was when he was alive and his legs hurt, and everything, from start to finish, was too much to believe again.  

But Yomiel was too overwhelmed by the whole to pay attention to one detail. He gets it now, more than a decade later.

“That’s it, Cabanela,” he snaps, trying to highlight the irritation and hide the sliver of amusement in his voice. “Enough! Unlike someone, I don’t have time to waste on sci-fi crime shows. Go watch  _Space Cop to the Rescue_  on your own.”

“I am asking on Jowd’s behalf, baby. Not miiine.”

“Then with him. Bye.”

For a few minutes after hanging up, Yomiel wears a thick frown. Then he bursts out laughing, and he wheezes on until his lungs are empty.

And to think he hadn’t even gotten to the second season. That show was crap.

*

The first time Yomiel visits the police station, Jowd introduces him as an expert (of what?) and a good man at heart. Nobody notices the meaningful look on his face, thanks to the glass that the resident pet cat throws to the ground. Wearing a perfectly innocent look to anyone else, said cat visitor glances back, and Yomiel’s disbelief softens.

After three years of mistaking his job for a thousand borderline impossible occupations, Cabanela introduces him to his colleagues as the top systems engineer of the nation.

Yomiel has to hide a smile. That’s ridiculous, but good enough.

They have all improved.


End file.
